


three words, two hearts, one maybe

by danahscott



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Blind Clarke, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Youtuber AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28267968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danahscott/pseuds/danahscott
Summary: After an accident blinds Clarke, Octavia's been encouraging her best friend to keep up with her artwork. In order to inspire her, she recruits the help of her older brother, Bellamy, who's recently launched a new exhibition at his museum, to feature her work. Bellamy likes Clarke's work, and he's more than happy to help. But when she doesn't show on the big day, he takes matters into his own hands. With an old video camera, he records people's reactions to Clarke's artwork so that she'll know just how talented she is. But when he sends it to his sister, he doesn't expect her to upload it to YouTube. And he definitely doesn't expect to go viral.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54
Collections: Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange





	three words, two hearts, one maybe

**Author's Note:**

> this was such a fun/difficult challenge! my tropes were 1) youtuber au 2) best friend's sibling 3) frikdreina and 4) miscommunication. i had a blast writing this and i think this is probably the fluffiest thing i have ever written for bellarke. i hope it brings the holiday cheer we all desperately need <3

If you had asked Bellamy Blake the three words that would change his life, he probably wouldn't have guessed "Hey, big brother," but truth be told, he wouldn't have been all that surprised either. How many problems had those three words caused in his life before?

"What do you want, O?" he said. She had caught him right when he'd gotten home from a very long day at work. His back would be sore all night from the precious cargo Echo was having him move into the back room. The last thing he needed was an ambush.

"What makes you think I want anything?"

"You only call me big brother when you're asking for a favor."

"Well, now that you mention it…"

Bellamy sighed, but then he smiled. He could pretend all he wanted, but he knew that whatever she asked of him, he would do. "Alright, what is it?"

"Does your museum still have that gallery space open?"

Bellamy furrowed his brow. It was a new idea, one he'd raised to Echo. He loved his job at the museum, but sometimes things were a bit stagnant. It was a risk to ask Echo if maybe the outdated photography exhibit could be replaced with something a little more relevant. Rotating gallery space, he thought, a new exhibit every month. And Arkadia already had a vibrant art scene, so why not source locally, from their own backyard? Echo had to think about it for a few days. But when she came back to Bellamy it was with permission and a promotion. This was his idea, so he would be executing it. She would have to approve each piece he planned to feature, of course, but it would be his project. The funny thing was, he had never known Octavia to take an active interest in his work. "Well, the exhibit opens a week from tomorrow, so we've pretty much locked everything down."

"You don't have room for one more?"

Now he was more confused. "What are you getting at?"

Octavia sighed, sitting down on his couch. "It's about Clarke."

Oh. Clarke. Octavia's best friend in college and now her roommate. "How is she doing?" he asked quietly.

Octavia laughed hollowly. "She's been better. It's been hard since the accident."

Bellamy nodded, sitting down next to her. He'd only met Clarke a few times, never knew her. But he was there when she was in the hospital, mostly to support his sister. He was there when she woke up and realized she couldn't see anything. But he hadn't seen her since. And he was pretty sure that she never even knew he was there in the first place. "What does Clarke have to do with my gallery?"

"I want you to show her work."

"Clarke's an artist?"

"Yeah," Octavia said, a proud smile appearing on her face. "I've been encouraging her to keep painting after the accident. At first, she didn't see the point. But I think it's really been helping. And I just know if you showed her work, it would -"

Bellamy stopped her, gently placing his hand over hers. He wanted to help her friend. He really did. But it wasn't that simple. "I can't just show anyone's work. This first showing is a trial run, and if Echo doesn't like it -"

Octavia's eyes hardened. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think she was good enough." Bellamy opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't say anything. He never knew how to let his sister down. "Hang on," she said, standing up, "I've got pictures."

As she went to grab her phone, Bellamy leaned back heavily on the couch. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt. But besides the fact that there was barely any room left in the gallery, Echo would never go for this. She'd see it as a favor. And Echo didn't do favors, not when it came to the museum.

Octavia came back, phone in hand, utter confidence written all over her face. For her sake, he hoped the painting was as good as she said. "Look," she said, opening her camera roll. "This is the only one she's done. Took her a week."

Bellamy blinked. He took the phone from his sister's hand and held it closely. "She did this blind?"

"I told you."

"Yeah," he said, "you did." After a long minute, he tore his eyes away from the painting. It was good. Really good. Maybe one of the best out of his current line up. "Tell her I'd be happy to show this at the gallery."

Octavia laughed again. "No way. She'd never believe me if I told her, she'd think it's a pity thing."

"So what do you expect me to do?"

His sister smiled. "Come over tomorrow and recruit her. That's your job, isn't it?"

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit nervous about this. Octavia told him Clarke would be a hard sell, but she was firm that she shouldn't be there while he did it. Bellamy barely knew Clarke. All he knew was that she was a good friend of his sister's, she was going through a hard time, and he really wanted her painting. Octavia let him in, and she would introduce him, and then she would leave. That was the plan, anyway.

Clarke was sitting on Octavia's couch, headphones on. As Bellamy caught his reflection in her sunglasses, he was struck by the same thought he'd had the last couple of times he'd seen her: she was really pretty. "Hey, Clarke," Octavia said. Bellamy watched as Clarke took an earphone out and turned in the direction of Octavia's voice. "Someone came to see you."

With that, Octavia threw Bellamy a thumbs up and disappeared into the kitchen. So much for an introduction. Bellamy cleared his throat, deciding to start like he usually started: confirmation of the artist's identity. "Clarke Griffin?"

Just over her glasses, Bellamy saw her brow crinkle, just a bit. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"I don't know. I'm… I'm Bellamy. We met a few times, I -"

"Octavia's brother, right. From Thanksgiving last year."

Bellamy laughed a little, sitting down in the armchair across from where Clarke was sitting. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember."

She nodded, but they quickly lapsed into an awkward silence. "Are you sure you're here to see me and not Octavia?"

"Yes," he said, regaining his train of thought. "I don't know if Octavia's told you about my work."

"A little."

"My museum's got a gallery opening in about a week. Octavia showed me your painting. We want to feature it."

Clarke's expression instantly soured and Bellamy wondered where he went wrong. But Octavia had warned him of this."Oh," Clarke said, and her voice was cynical where it was previously polite. "So that's why she was being cagey this morning."

Bellamy continued with his sales pitch, determined to plow ahead. He was good at closing deals. He could handle Clarke Griffin. (Or so he thought.) "We wouldn't be able to pay you, at least not this time, but it's good exposure. And if you do any new work between now and the next opening, we'll come to you and see if it'll fit the exhibit."

"Save it," Clarke said. For a moment, she seemed as if she was about to stand up, but instead she sunk back farther on the couch.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not interested."

"Clarke -"

"Look, whatever this is, I don't care. Count me out." She seemed firm, and Bellamy couldn't get a good read on her face. But he was damned if he was going to give up now.

"I showed my boss your painting and she loved it. We want it for our museum."

Clarke laughed, but it was a harsh sound. "Let me guess. She thinks the local blind girl will draw in sympathy crowds."

That was the real moment that changed everything. Bellamy didn't know it yet, what the next six months would entail, the change that would come to both of their lives, all the laughter and tears and love. He did know one thing, though: he knew he was going to close this deal. "I didn't tell her you were blind."

Clarke's eyebrows jumped up. But she was quiet for a moment. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why would I lie?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

"Then," Bellamy said, standing up, "I think you have the wrong guy. This is my job. I take it very seriously."

"If I say no, you'll leave me alone?" she said, as if she was challenging him.

"Maybe. More likely, I'll be back next month, asking again. Your work is good. I don't waste words when I say we want it very badly."

Clarke was quiet for a moment, but he could feel the temptation in the air. He could see her hands twitching, ever so slightly, like they longed for a pencil or a paintbrush. "No thank you," she said finally. Bellamy nodded, slightly disappointed. But he still had a good feeling. He headed towards the door, but Clarke's voice, soft and nervous, stopped him. "It's good? It's not…?"

Bellamy looked at her intently. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from saying more. "Not what?"

"Not a mess," she said after a moment, shaking her head.

Maybe he was overstepping. Maybe what he should do was leave, respect her decision, and tell Octavia that he was sorry he couldn't persuade her friend. But that was not what he did. Instead, he said, "You aren't the first blind painter, Clarke. You won't be the last. But you could be the best. Let me know if you change your mind."

He swung open the door, but before he could close it behind him, he heard a small voice. "Wait."

And with that one little word, he closed the deal.

And sealed their fates.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

He came over the next day to pick up the painting. Normally, he would show the artist the gallery, get their input on the presentation of their work. With Clarke, it was going to be a bit more complicated than that. That was okay with Bellamy, though. That just meant he would have to spend a bit more time with her, and seeing as she was the last submission, that worked fine with his schedule. Besides, she was his sister's best friend. Really, it just meant he got to see Octavia more.

Though Octavia was decidedly absent every time he came. She was worried about scaring Clarke off, and Bellamy was starting to understand why. He kept getting the feeling that she would pull out at any moment. That was why he wanted to get her display up and running sooner rather than later. She was waiting for him when he showed up, looking half pleased, half nervous.

"Hi, Bellamy."

"Clarke," he said with a smile. "I picked up some coffee for us on the way." He slid the drink towards her on the table in front of the couch. "Octavia said you take it black."

Her smile was surprising to both of them, it seemed. This was the first time Bellamy had ever seen her smile. It made her look lovely. He wondered if she knew that. "Thanks," she said, taking it and holding it for a long moment before drinking, letting it warm her hands. Bellamy had always wished he could draw, especially in moments like this. It was a nice image. And it would be nice to have something to remember it by. He got the feeling that he'd remember it pretty well anyway.

"So…" There was a brief silence. "The painting?"

"Right," Clarke said, her nervousness returning. She stood up, grabbing her white cane and leading him to her bedroom, a section of the apartment Bellamy had never seen. In truth, Octavia usually crashed at his place.

Her painting was on an easel in the corner of her room. It was one thing seeing it on Octavia's phone screen and another entirely seeing it in person. The paint Clarke used was thick, deeply textured. It looked as if she may have used her fingers instead of a brush for certain segments. It was vibrant, with an incredible sense of space and structure, segmented into thirds. Most of the painting was a shade of green, except for the middle, which had large clumps of red and speckles of blue. There was no doubt as to what it was. It was a flower field.

Bellamy stood in silence for a long moment, considering the painting, tilting his head this way and that, viewing it from different angles. He had almost forgotten Clarke was there until he heard her quiet voice asking, "What does it look like?"

Bellamy looked at her. "You don't know?" he said gently.

"Octavia helped me lay out the colors so I'd know which was which and… and I know what I was trying to do."

Bellamy looked back at the painting. How could he possibly try and describe this to her? How could he capture the feeling it gave him, the artistry so present in every inch of it? How could he explain the surprise of it all? "It looks like…" He thought long and hard about what to say, and in the end, all that would come out of his mouth was, "It looks like a field of flowers."

Clarke nodded, her face impassive. "Good. That's what I was going for."

Well, he'd gotten it right. Yet somehow, Bellamy felt that he'd had a chance there, and he hadn't given her what she'd needed.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Over the course of the next week, Bellamy and Clarke worked together to make sure that everything was how she wanted it. This involved a lot of him picking her up at her apartment with coffee in hand, driving her over to the museum, and describing the space as best he could. Part of him was expecting Clarke not to be especially particular, but she surprised him. As he described the space and the options, he could see her slipping into the role of an artist like a well-fitting glove.

She had a strong vision, a discerning eye, and a clear idea of what would be best. But once he started talking about the night of the gallery itself, Clarke grew listless again. He talked about dress code, about what to expect, the kind of questions people might ask her, what time the exhibit would open to the public. Bellamy offered to give her a ride, but she dodged the question, saying she'd prefer to arrive with Octavia. At the time, Bellamy didn't think much of that.

Clarke's artistry wasn't the only surprising thing about her. She was funny, really funny, but he never saw her jokes coming. She was startlingly kind sometimes when he least expected it, but maybe most needed it. She liked to tease him over the music he played on the way to the museum so he started curating playlists that would make her tease him more. They grabbed take-out a few times, roping Octavia into joining them as they sat and talked. Somehow, Bellamy didn't want this week to end. Especially considering it was technically part of his job. How lucky was he to get paid to spend time with Clarke Griffin?

He wondered how he never noticed her before, at Thanksgiving, at Octavia's birthday parties, the few times they'd been flung together at Octavia-related events. He had always thought of her as an extension of his sister's life. That was how he saw pretty much all of his sister's friends. But suddenly, Bellamy was feeling selfish enough to want Clarke for his own, as his own friend, as someone he could call and go to and be with. As long as the exhibit went well, he had a firm feeling that he and Clarke might just become real friends.

So there was a lot riding on tonight. Namely, his job. But his mind was dwelling more on other things.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

For the bulk of the day, Echo kept him ridiculously busy. Despite all her talk that this was his project, she still had many opinions on how things should go, and Bellamy was happy to oblige. Hell, he was just happy that she was letting him do this. It wasn't until the gallery had officially kicked off that he thought of Clarke again. He'd seen most of the other artists, shaken their hands, thanked them for coming. Attendance wasn't mandatory for artists, but almost all of them showed up anyway.

He hadn't seen Clarke, but then again, he hadn't seen Octavia yet either, and she was her ride. So, he tried not to think about it too hard and he instead focused on greeting the public and making sure the booze table was stocked. Only half an hour after the exhibit had launched, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around, expecting to see Echo with another order. Instead, he saw Octavia in a midnight blue cocktail dress. She always took the dress code very seriously. "You look lovely, O."

"I wish I could say the same about you." She sighed when she saw him, reaching up to adjust his tie which in truth, he had been struggling with all evening. As she fiddled with the tie, he looked over her shoulder, only finding empty air.

"Where's Clarke?"

Octavia was silent as she worked on his tie, but when she finally finished, she looked as disappointed as he was feeling. "She's not coming."

Bellamy knit his brow. "What happened?" he asked softly.

"She said that… she didn't see the point of pretending to be proud of something she couldn't even see. I'm sorry. I really thought it would help."

Bellamy was quiet. The thing was, he was pretty sure it had been helping. As the week had gone on, Clarke had seemed more and more animated, more engaged, more invested. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be to lose her sight, just like that, practically overnight. But he was positive that the work they were doing together had been helping. So what went wrong?

He looked down at his sister who seemed to be waiting for him to say something. "Go look around, I'll find you later," he said, but he was still lost in thought. An idea was forming. It could be a total miss, but at this point, did he have anything to lose?

He found Echo near the back of the room, stock still, her eyes jumping from display to display, from guest to guest. She had an incredible eye for mistakes. "Bellamy?" she said when she saw him coming. "What crisis needs averting?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "It's going great, I just… Do we still have that tripod in the store room?"

Echo narrowed her eyes. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Bellamy had hoped he wouldn't have to tell her. That way, there would have been no chance she could say no. Luckily for him, as soon as Bellamy described his plan, she was on board. He was lucky to have Echo for a boss, even if he could never tell what she would or wouldn't go for. He found the tripod and a video camera they occasionally used to shoot promotional material.

And he set it up in front of Clarke's painting. There was an older couple standing in front of it at the time, looking surprised at his approach. "What's this?" the woman said.

Bellamy prepared himself to lie. "This exhibit is partially interactive. All you have to do, should you choose to participate, is describe this painting."

The woman looked at her husband, a smile starting to emerge on her face. "How it makes me feel or what it looks like?"

"Either," Bellamy said. "Both."

And then he hit record.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

There were all sorts of types to come and discuss. There were those art critic types who used words like "technical proficiency," there were little kids who talked about the colors they liked best, there were those who tried to very accurately and precisely describe the painting, and then there were those who talked about how it made them feel. "It's like I'm small again," one old woman said, "and the grass is taller than me. It's like I've stepped into another world."

The exhibit closed at 11:30 and Bellamy told Echo he had to raincheck for celebratory drinks. There was something else he felt the need to do. He was up until two in the morning editing footage, and after watching the final video four times in a row, he thought it was finally ready. He sent it off to his sister with a message: "Show this to Clarke when she wakes up tomorrow. Thanks for coming tonight, O."

How could he have guessed that his sister would still be awake? How could he guess what she would do with the video the moment she watched it?

When his late morning alarm went off eight hours later, he woke up to two separate texts. One from Echo, and one from Clarke.

Echo: At the earliest possible convenience, I want to be introduced to Clarke Griffin.

Clarke: Come over. Now.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy was supposed to be at the museum in an hour, so he started by calling Echo and telling her he'd have to be a little late. When he told her it was because Clarke wanted to see him, she simply said, "Send me the address. I'll meet you there," and hung up. Since it was technically an order from his superior, Bellamy had no choice but to oblige.

On the drive over, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. He was nervous about seeing her, excited too. He hoped she had seen the video and liked it, he hoped that she would come to the exhibit next time, he hoped that everything had gone as he had wanted it to. But he was also a little worried about why she so urgently needed to see him. That text hadn't sounded excited.

It sounded pissed.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Octavia answered the door for him, and in her eyes was a curious mixture of excitement and dread. "She's in her room."

"Her text was weird, is everything okay?"

Octavia dodged both the question and his eyes. "I think you should go to talk to her."

Bellamy swallowed thickly, walking slowly down the hall. He hadn't known Clarke for very long. He had never seen her angry. But he could imagine what it would be like and he knew he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that anger.

When he knocked on her door, Clarke's tight voice responded, "Come in." When he entered, she was sitting on her bed, facing the door.

"Hey, Clarke," he said carefully.

"Is that really what you're going to lead with?"

Okay. So clearly, he was in trouble. He decided that if he just pretended he didn't know what she was talking about - which wasn't really pretending, in truth - then maybe he could avoid whatever tension was brewing between them. Not that he would mind a little tension between him and Clarke, but maybe not this kind.

"I missed you at the gallery last night."

Clarke laughed. "Oh, I can see that you did."

Bellamy shook his head, more confused than ever. "Did you see the video?"

That was where she decided to stand up. "Yeah, I saw it, me and half the world!" Bellamy opened his mouth to respond, but she kept going. "How do you think it feels to wake up and hear that my artwork is spread all over the internet and I never knew a goddamn thing about it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't act like you don't know, you're the one who made it!"

"Yeah," Bellamy said, starting to piece together the problem in his mind, "and then I sent it off to Octavia. So she could show you when you woke up."

Clarke was silent for a moment, but her anger was still curling around her in waves. "Are you saying you didn't post it?"

"No, I wouldn't even know how, I - Did you say half the world had seen it?"

Clarke sighed, finally letting the tension between them dissipate. "That might have been an exaggeration, but not by much."

Bellamy pursed his lips, thinking. That would certainly explain Echo's urgency to see Clarke. He could get Octavia to take it down, of course, but that wasn't the thought at the forefront of his mind. There was something else more pressing. "But you saw the video."

Clarke's face turned towards the sound of his voice and she stepped closer to him. "Yes, I saw it."

"I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I just… I wanted you to know that your work was good. That it moved a lot of people in that gallery last night. Maybe you can't see for yourself, but I needed you to know. Was that… was that out of line?"

Clarke's shoulders shrugged slightly, but it wasn't until he saw a small tear slip out from underneath the rim of her sunglasses that he realized she was crying. "I think it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." She reached out for him then, not sure exactly where he was standing in relation to her, but her fingers brushed his arm, and he was more than happy to close the distance for her.

It was the first time he had been so close to Clarke, and he had the strange thought that it would be nice to hold her for longer, for keeps. Her hair smelled vaguely lemony and her wool sweater was rough against his skin. It was a brief embrace, but he was glad for it all the same. When she pulled away, reaching underneath her sunglasses to wipe her eyes, Bellamy was almost glad she couldn't see the red blush creeping up the back of his neck.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "About going viral?"

Clarke laughed, the last of her tears fading away. "It's weird. I guess I don't know. Octavia spent the whole morning reading me comments, but it's not like she would read me any of the bad ones."

"Maybe there aren't any."

She laughed again, and he supposed that was probably accurate knowing the internet. "There are… There are some comments from other blind people. From, um, some kids. And some artists. I didn't really think about that."

"If YouTube loved it as much as people loved it last night, then I think you're good."

She was quiet for a moment. "They really loved it?"

"What did it sound like to you?"

"You know, modern editing. Anything can sound like anything these days," she said, but she was teasing, so he laughed. "I'm gonna give your sister hell for this, I hope you understand."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." It was then his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket that he remembered the second half of this morning. Clarke's face looked curious, but she wasn't going to ask who it was. Luckily, Bellamy was more than willing to volunteer that information.

"That was Echo, my boss. She really wanted to meet you last night, but, well…" He tapered off, trying to figure out a way to frame this so she would say yes. "She's here, she's out front, but I can tell her to leave if… if that's what you want."

Clarke took a few steps towards the door. "She wants to meet me?"

"Very badly," he said, and from the sound of her text this morning, he didn't think he was exaggerating.

"Fine. But only for you," Clarke said with a soft smile. Bellamy bit his back before realizing that he didn't have to, not with Clarke, whether she could see his smile or not, he didn't care if she knew about it.

"Okay. I'll bring her up."

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

It was strange seeing Clarke and Echo standing across from each other. Though they were linked through the same event, they still felt like they existed in two different spheres of his life. Clarke reached out her hand first, and Echo took it firmly. "I've heard a lot about you, Clarke," Echo said, studying her intently.

"Likewise," Clarke lied. "I want to thank you again for featuring my work in your exhibit last night."

Echo smiled. "That was all Bellamy." He had tried to leave them alone for a few moments, but Echo insisted he stay. She clearly had something up her sleeve, but it was Echo, after all. She always did.

"Have you seen Bellamy's video?"

Clarke nodded, blushing a little.

"So have I. And clearly, we're not the only ones."

"Clearly," Clarke said.

"I think we have an opportunity here. You're very talented," Echo said. "Your work stands on its own. But it doesn't have to. There's an opportunity to capitalize on what started last night. I'd be interested in working with you further. You don't have to decide now, but I'll leave my card with your roommate."

"Oh," Clarke said, stammering a little. It was clear she was a little overwhelmed. "Alright."

"If you agree, you'd be working with Bellamy. His idea and your work created something our museum hasn't seen before. I think, with you on board, we could garner more foot traffic, pull in more donors, and get some good publicity. Take your time to think about it." She squeezed Clarke's hand and then headed for the door without waiting for her answer. That was nice of her, Bellamy thought. Removed any pressure of an immediate response.

"I'm headed in now. Bellamy?"

"I'll be there in an hour, is that okay?"

Echo smiled. "Perfect. Are we on for drinks tonight?" That's right, Bellamy remembered. He had rain checked their celebratory night out to work on Clarke's video.

"Yeah, of course. See you soon."  
Then Echo left, leaving Bellamy alone with Clarke. There was an indecipherable look on her face that Bellamy wished he could get a better reading of. He didn't know what she was thinking or why she seemed so upset all of a sudden. But then her face changed from disappointed to thoughtful. Bellamy stood there in silence, letting her be the first to break it. This was his job and he was used to it, but Echo was asking a lot of her.

Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "What do you think I should do?"

Bellamy smiled. "I think you should take the deal."

"Really?"

"Your stuff is good, Clarke. You told me about those comments. Don't you want to reach more people? If it's helping, and it's good, then what's the downside here?"

"That was one painting. I don't even know how I did it the first time."

"I'll be here to help you. And so will Octavia, right?"

Octavia emerged from the kitchen where she had clearly been eavesdropping. "As long as you let me be your media manager."

Bellamy laughed. "What?"

"Clarke does the painting. You edit the videos. I take care of networking. No offense, but neither of you know anything about the internet."

Bellamy shrugged, turning to Clarke. "I'm in if you're in."

Slowly, a smile spread across her face, radiant as the sun. "Go tell your boss that I'll take the deal."

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy was grinning his whole way into work. He was glad for Clarke, and he was glad for the museum, but mostly he was glad for himself. Echo said that he and Clarke would be working together. Which meant he was going to spend a lot more time with her, and he tried not to think too hard about why that made him so happy.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Things took off pretty quickly from there. The first exhibit took place in late August. By September, Octavia had designed a schedule in which they posted a video each week. One of the videos showed Clarke's creative process, one video was a quick Q&A with Bellamy and Echo, and the third was a promo video for the gallery. Bellamy was expecting a slight uptick in popularity at the gallery, but he was slightly stunned when they had to announce to the long line that they were at capacity. Echo, grinning, said they'd have to start ticketing the event.

Clarke came that time, looking stunning in a green dress Octavia had picked out for her. Bellamy swallowed thickly when he saw her. All this close contact over the past month had made him acutely aware of what he'd known since the beginning. He had more-than-a-crush on his little sister's best friend. Still, he could be professional. Which meant that he could let his gaze linger on her as long as he kept his voice carefully controlled. No problem.

Clarke, for one, had taken the transition in stride. Before her accident, she'd worked as a barista, and while technically she had been on a "leave of absence," she'd been worried about finding new employment, something that would allow her to make rent. This job paid better, involved something she was actually passionate about, and was more than willing to accommodate her disability. So, as she said to Bellamy one night when they were driving home, maybe things had worked out for the best. "In more ways than one," she added quietly, smiling at him.

It was agreed that Clarke shouldn't be there when they recorded the reactions. They wanted them to sound genuine, they didn't want anyone to feel pressured by the artist's presence. But when he edited the videos that night, while the clips still felt expressive and moving, they didn't feel as organic as he wanted them to. Still, he edited them together, sent it off to Octavia.

In his mind, he was formulating another idea. He didn't tell anyone about it, not Echo, not Clarke. Only his sister because he needed someone to hold the camera. He took Clarke's painting from the night before, taking great care not to allow any damage to come to it. This painting wasn't particularly dissimilar from the last one. It seemed that Clarke had taken an interest in flowers. Still, Bellamy liked this one better. Maybe because he was there to watch her paint it. It was a row of roses with long green stems, bright, thick red bulbs over a black background. Every smear of paint looked like an intentional mistake, adding a level of verisimilitude to the painting.

He realized that he couldn't have people coming to the exhibit just to react to Clarke's painting. It needed to be real, spontaneous. So he and Octavia took to the streets of Arkadia. Standing there with his camera, Bellamy felt the magic of that first night, people's surprise coming to the surface, the wonder of children as they reached out to touch it and their parents gently pushed their hands away. The discerning eye complimenting the spacial awareness, and the average passerby remarking on the colors, the way it made them feel.

Octavia had posted the museum video hours ago, but the next week, a new one was up and it was an even bigger hit than the very first one. And Bellamy had dared to step in front of the camera himself. Clarke's paintings moved him, maybe more than he had ever been moved by artwork before. He knew it wasn't because her wildflowers were better than Monet's Water Lilies or Van Gogh's Starry Night. It was because he liked her. Enough that she could make anything and it would be his favorite. Still, he watched as Clarke quietly gasped when his voice came on the video.

"It's the beauty of the artist that I feel when I look at this painting. Each small smear, each chunk of paint, each messy brushstroke makes me think that Clarke Griffin understands something that none of us can. And the world is better for it."

The video faded out. Clarke was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, Bellamy," she said, a strange tone in her voice that he was kind enough not to comment on. "Just… thank you."

Echo was thrilled with the new idea. Each week, they'd take to the street and have people remark on whatever painting Clarke had just finished with, and then, at the end of each month, they'd have a video that took place within the museum. Sure, the reactions would mainly be from fans, but that wasn't to be discounted. So every week, Bellamy and Octavia went out onto the streets of Arkadia with a camera and a canvas and captured reactions. Every time, he stepped in front of the camera and said whatever he felt when he looked at the painting. For one week out of each month, they had an interview with Clarke, something she did reluctantly. But fans wanted to know more about her.

What Octavia was kind enough not to tell her was something she whispered to Bellamy instead. "Just so you know, I left out all the questions about your relationship."

"Our what?" Bellamy said, eyes widening.

"Look at the top comment." This was on their most recent video. The comment had almost three thousand likes.

It read: my favorite part is how that one guy always talks about the artist instead of the art it's SO cute 3

"That's not -" Bellamy stammered, "It's just because I know her, so I can…" He trailed off, realizing he wasn't going to be able to lie, not to his sister. Instead, he whispered, "Don't say anything, okay?"

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

It was mid-October when Bellamy felt the shift. He had looked up which movies were best to watch with audio description and he and Clarke were watching one on her couch. It was a weekend. There was no work-related reason for them to be hanging out together, except for the fact that they wanted to. Bellamy ignored the private little thrill that gave him.

Neither of them were really paying attention, but when it finally ended, they sat in silence for a while. He had a question. It was something he'd been wondering about for a while. His mouth felt dry when he spoke, and he wasn't sure why he was so nervous. "Do you… do you remember what I look like?" he said. They'd only met a few times, at various Thanksgivings and parties. They'd never really connected until after her accident.

Clarke's eyebrows raised. But then she smiled. "Yeah. I remember. I remember…" Now she seemed nervous. She ran her tongue over her lips, thinking, and Bellamy wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. "I remember wanting to draw you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there was something… complicated about your face. Soft and hard at the same time. And the freckles -" She blushed, shrugging. "Guess I missed my chance."

Bellamy was glad she couldn't see his face right now, because he was sure it was revealing way too much. "You could still do it."

"Why bother? It wouldn't look right." She sighed. "I used to do portraits all the time."

Bellamy looked over at the coffee table, at the sketchpad lying open there. She liked to do rough sketches of her paintings before trying them. It helped her get a sense of the space, she said. He reached over, grabbing the pad and a pencil and pressing them gently into her hands. "Try it."

For a second, he was sure she was going to say no. But then, silently, she nodded. "Okay." She moved closer to him on the couch. "I'd have to… I'd have to touch your face. To get a sense of what it looks like. Is that okay?"

Bellamy nodded before realizing she couldn't see it. "Yeah," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Of course."

Her small fingers reached out towards him, pulling back suddenly, then reaching towards him again. Her hand smelled like the lavender soap they had in the bathroom, and it was all Bellamy could do not to lean into her touch. He closed his eyes and her fingers traced his features. She started with his jaw, and he tried to be still as her touch brushed along his chin. Then his nose, his eyes, the pad of her thumb gently moving across his eyelashes, his eyebrows. She finished with his lips, which Bellamy pursed without even thinking about it. He wished they weren't so chapped today. He wished they weren't so rough.

It only took ten minutes, but Bellamy wished it had taken hours, days, weeks. He wished it would never end. When she finished, she handed it to him, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How is it?"

He studied the sketch. He wished he could say that she should try again, just for those tense moments of silent touch in which he had to conceal absolutely nothing of what he wanted. But the sketch was good. She'd gotten his freckles. That was the thing that surprised him. And it was surprisingly accurate. Maybe it was a bit more abstract than she'd wanted it to be. The lines didn't all match up, the eyes were uneven, the nose was crooked in a way that was more than just bone structure. It didn't look exactly like him. She'd gotten a few things wrong. But his jaw was perfect. It wasn't going to go in any gallery, it wasn't going to be shown on the street.

But Bellamy would keep it folded in the left-hand pocket of his jeans for the next six months. It was his favorite thing she had ever done. "It's perfect," he said quietly.

And most times, Clarke would object to a compliment like that. But something in Bellamy's voice must have told her he meant it, because she simply smiled.

Shit, Bellamy thought. I might like her more than like her. Don't tell me that it's love.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

It was Mid-November that Bellamy had prepared a surprise for Clarke's birthday. While it was two weeks late, the project was ambitious, causing a lot of late-night hours at the museum. He had to keep rain-checking on plans with Clarke, telling her he was getting drinks with Echo or something along those lines, which technically wasn't a lie because they often guzzled a couple shots of whiskey before the night was over.

He and Echo were becoming better friends throughout all of this anyway, and he was starting to resent her knowing smile that she wore whenever he brought up Clarke. Still, he couldn't hide it from her either, not when she knew he was doing all this for Clarke's sake. As long as it benefitted the museum, his boss didn't really seem to care. It took weeks of writing and recording until his voice was hoarse. He'd asked Octavia to forward him Clarke's throat-soothing tea recipe. He was surprised when she showed up at his place with a thermos in hand and his sister by her side. "You catching a cold?"

Bellamy locked eyes with Octavia, who was clearly loving this, and said, "Something like that."

Finally, it was ready. He came over to the apartment on a day he knew Clarke was free under the guise of borrowing something from his sister. "Hey, Clarke," he said.

"What?" she asked distractedly. She had been slowly learning braille over the past few months, working her way through books she knew well in order to hone her skills. Bellamy had gotten her a subscription to an audiobook website for her first birthday present, partly so she wouldn't see this coming, partly because he liked to listen to them with her.

"I'm headed into the museum."

"I thought it was your day off."

"Well, it is, but there's a new exhibit that just opened up and uh, I really think you'd like it."

She laughed, but there was a sadness in the sound. "I won't even be able to see it."

"Come with me anyway."

Clarke sighed, closing her book. "Bellamy, if I spend the afternoon walking around a museum wishing I knew what each painting looked like, it'll depress the both of us. I'm sure you can tell me all about it later."

Bellamy spoke up before she opened her book again. "Do you trust me, Clarke?"

She seemed taken aback. "Of course I do."

There was that blush creeping up the back of his neck again. "Then come with me." And he knew there was no way she would say no.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

Bellamy was maybe a little nervous on the drive over, and Clarke seemed to be able to tell, but she wasn't saying anything so neither was he. He turned on some music, waiting for Clarke to make fun of him, but she didn't. So maybe she was nervous too.

It wasn't until they were almost there that he realized she was quiet because she really didn't want to do this. That she was only doing it for his sake. Well, Bellamy hoped that he was right. That she'd like this surprise. She couldn't read the big sign announcing the museum's new feature, so the surprise would stay a surprise until Bellamy told her about it.

He wasn't the first person to come up with this idea. It was something he had always thought about doing, but it had always seemed like so much work and he was swamped enough as it was. Until he met Clarke, the passing thought hadn't formed into an idea. But he was glad he did this, and not just for Clarke's sake. They stood at the entry of the museum. Bellamy had planned their route carefully. He reached into the bag that he'd brought and pulled out two pairs of headphones. He put his on first, then handed a pair to Clarke.

"What?" she said, confused. "What are these for?"

"Just put them on."

Then, he pulled up the app that Octavia had sneakily downloaded to Clarke's phone that morning and hit play. It was thrilling to watch Clarke's face as she realized what he had done. A guided tour of the museum. He had written about each painting, recorded his voice describing it to an imaginary audience - but he was only ever imagining her - and created this app. He had done it for the museum, but mostly, he had done it for his best friend.

It was an hour and a half of walking around the museum, stopping in front of each piece for about three minutes. There was something exciting and nerve-wracking about knowing it was his voice speaking softly in her ear, that he was the one to give her this gift. Her face was filled with quiet wonder, and Bellamy found himself looking over at her more often than the artwork.

When they finally exited into the late-afternoon sunlight, Bellamy knew his gift had been a hit. His nerves were gone. The only thing he cared about was that he had given Clarke something worth remembering. "Happy birthday," he said, his hand on her shoulder.

"Bellamy," she said, bottom lip trembling. "No one's ever done anything like this for me."

"Well, get used to it," he said, pulling her in for a hug. "I'm not sure how I'll top it next year, but trust me. I'll find a way."

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

A couple days later, he and Clarke filmed the promo for the guided tour which turned out to be a big hit, not just with people who might need it, but people who liked to listen as they looked at the artwork. Business was booming and it was all thanks to the three of them, Bellamy, Octavia, and Clarke. They were still out on the street every week, even as it grew colder. Luckily, as December came upon them, everyone was out Christmas shopping, meaning that there were still more than enough people to stop and say something about a painting.

Some people started recognizing him which Bellamy found embarrassing. But he felt a burst of pride every time someone recognized Clarke. As he spent more time with her, he kept realizing just how in deep he was. He wanted to push it away, to keep things strictly platonic between them, but he realized he only wanted that because he thought that was what she wanted. Besides, if she didn't feel the same, it might ruin everything between them. And he would rather have her like this than not have her at all.

So he bit his tongue. But only a few days before Christmas, he started to realize that he wasn't going to be able to stay silent forever. Not about this. Plus, Octavia's nudging certainly didn't help matters any. So, he was over at Octavia's apartment which, at this point, he was spending more time at than his own. He was mixing up hot chocolate for them using a recipe his mother used to have, adding cinnamon and nutmeg and a tiny bit of eggnog. Clarke was sitting across the counter, resting her cheek on her hand, one earbud in, listening to some holiday music. Now or never, Bellamy thought to himself. "So, Clarke, you have any plans for Christmas Eve?"

Clarke turned her face towards his voice. "No, not really. I'll probably just watch A Christmas Story with Octavia for the tenth time. What about you?"

Bellamy took a deep breath, but when he spoke, he kept his voice carefully nonchalant. "I was, um. I was thinking about asking a girl I like if she might… if she might want to spend it with me."

"Oh?" Clarke said, her face completely unreadable. "What girl?"

"That's the thing, we work together. So I wouldn't ask her unless I really… really liked her. Which I do."

Her face remained impassive, but there was an unmistakable tension in her voice. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Bellamy was smiling now, gaining steam as he spoke. "She's compassionate, and she's smart, and she's talented. She's so beautiful I can't stand it sometimes. And I find it hard to think about anything else, whether I'm with her or not."

Clarke was quiet, but her chest was rising up and down more quickly, her breaths coming in faster. Her voice sounded disinterested when she spoke, and Bellamy was trying to figure out what she was implying. "That's nice. She sounds great."

His grin grew wider. "She is. So do you think I should ask her out?"

Clarke was quiet for a long moment. Then, she took a deep breath. "I really don't think I'm the person you should be asking that question."

He could feel his face falling, and he was so glad she wasn't able to see the hot burn of shame and disappointment gathering in his eyes. "You don't?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, cheeks red. "No. I don't."

The silence that hung between them was uncomfortable, for the first time in a long time. "Okay," he said quietly. "Here's your cocoa." He slid the mug across the table. Then, before she could say anything else, he made up some excuse about needing to stop by the museum to see Echo. He didn't linger long enough to say a goodbye. He just left.

-::-::-::-::-::-::-

The next few days were horrible. Bellamy almost wished that he had waited to ask her until after their final exhibit, if only to avoid seeing her for a while. But the problem was, he wanted to see her very, very badly. What he had feared most had happened. Clarke didn't feel the same way. He had ruined everything between them.

He took the week of Christmas off every year which he was regretting now, because he would give anything to have a reason to keep his mind off of the girl who broke his heart. Instead, he baked way too many cookies, meaning even the bartender was getting a festive batch from him this year. He watched every Home Alone movie, twice. Christmas Eve was the worst, mostly because he had once hoped to spend it with his favorite person.

When his phone rang, he barely mustered up the energy to answer it. He didn't bother checking the caller ID, he just answered. "What?" he said, not caring if he sounded hostile.

Octavia's voice answered, firm and demanding. "Check your email, dumbass." Then she hung up.

He sighed, pausing Home Alone. It was a video, but not a YouTube link as usual. It was Octavia and Clarke on the couch together, and for a long moment, he really didn't want to watch. But he couldn't help it. He missed her. It had only been days, but he missed her. But he sat up straight when he opened the video and heard the unmistakable sound of Clarke crying.

It was clear she didn't know there was a camera on her, and he reminded himself to yell at Octavia about that later. Clarke was lying, wearing grey sweats and an oversized sweatshirt she had stolen from Bellamy. Octavia was sitting on the arm of the couch, looking concerned and amused at the same time. "You're an idiot," she said.

"I know," Clarke moaned, snivelling.

"No, not because of that. He's in love with you."

"He was talking about Echo," Clarke said. "He made that pretty clear."

"I promise you he wasn't."

Clarke rolled over so she was facing away from the camera and when she spoke her voice was muffled. "I knew he liked her. I knew for months. I don't know why I'm so upset."

Bellamy's eyes widened. She thought he was talking about Echo? His boss? He wanted to turn the video off and call her, but there were still three minutes left and he was burning with curiosity to find out what she would say next.

But it was Octavia who broke the silence. "Hang on," he watched as Octavia crossed the room to grab her laptop, then spent twenty seconds pulling something up. "I haven't posted this yet. I wanted to wait until he finally made a move, but clearly, you two are such dumbasses that you'll never figure it out without my help."

She hit play and Bellamy heard his voice fill the room. "It's the beauty of the artist that I feel when I look at this painting. Each small smear, each chunk of paint, each messy brushstroke makes me think that Clarke Griffin understands something that none of us can. And the world is better for it." That was the first time he had ever said anything about her work in a video. But it didn't stop there.

"The artist pays attention to every small detail, everything that lives no matter how small or insignificant. Details other painters would omit are included in her work, showing a deep compassion for the world around her."

"There's an intelligence in the composition of this painting. Clarke Griffin clearly has the instinct of an artist, following the rule of thirds without making it seem like a conscious choice. It's the seeming effortlessness of this piece that makes it clear that it was created with intelligence."

This went on for a while until finally, he heard one of the last ones he did. "I wish I could say something smart about this painting. But I can't. All I can say is I've been thinking about it for days."

As the audio ended, Octavia looked at Clarke. "Now tell me. How did he describe that girl he liked so much?"

Clarke's shock was startlingly beautiful. Bellamy felt as if he could spend hours looking at her small form on his phone screen. "Oh my god."

"What did I tell you?"

"I have to get dressed!" she said, standing up, grabbing her white cane and heading towards her bedroom. "Will you drive me?" he could hear her voice say in the distance.

"Of course," Octavia said, rolling her eyes. As she stood up from the sofa to turn off the camera, she winked.

And that was it. That was the video. Bellamy shook his head, stunned. But before he had time to process what he just saw, his doorbell rang.

There are some moments when you know your life is about to change. Bellamy didn't know when he met Clarke that he'd fall in love with her. He would bet Clarke had no idea either. But if he was sure of one thing, he was sure that both people on either side of his door knew that this moment was going to be The Moment. He swung his door open.

There she was, standing in the Christmas Eve snow, her breath fogging up in front of her. "Hi," she said simply.

Bellamy laughed. He couldn't hide the smile on his face. "Hey."

"You said you wanted to spend Christmas Eve with the girl you liked."

Bellamy stepped closer to her. His sister was smiling on the sidewalk. He was glad she was here to see this. After all, she was the one who had brought them together. He pressed his hand to the small of Clarke's back, pulling her into him, and was happy when she blushed at his touch. "I might have lied."

She raised her eyebrows, confused. "What?"

"I don't just like her."

Then, finally, after months of waiting and wanting and hoping, he kissed her. It was as thrilling as the day she had traced the outline of his face with her thumb, but better, because he knew that she wanted him too. He had dreamed about this. He had wondered about this with every painting of hers he saw, he had wished for her love every time he dropped her off at her apartment and he had suffered in silence for far longer than he needed to. Her drawing was still in the pocket of his jeans, but now, her heart was in his hands. He knew that he would never drop it, never.

He pulled away, breathless and grinning, delighted by the sound of her laughter, the taste of vanilla chapstick on her lips. As he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he knew that there were only three words left to say.

"Octavia, stop recording!"


End file.
